


Fangs for the Memories

by murderlight



Category: Bleach
Genre: Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Turned Into Vampire, Crack, Humour, Ichigo is having a bad day, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-07 04:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15211124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderlight/pseuds/murderlight
Summary: Dosed with an unknown drug, Ichigo wakes up with some interestingly pop-culture familiar traits. Like sharp fangs, and an aversion to sunlight. His family and friends do what anyone would do in that situation: dump him in the middle of Hueco Mundo to sleep it off.It goes about as well as anyone would expect - especially once Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez gets wind of it. The only thing is, he's not the only one, and Ichigo discovers an appetite for one specific number six espada just in time for everybody to get in his damn way.





	1. Chapter 1

In retrospect, Kurotsuchi Mayuri crashing Ichigo’s annual physical in the fourth division barracks should have been a dead giveaway. One moment he was running for his life on an over-sized hamster wheel, dressed in nothing but his underwear while Hanatarou called readings out to the peanut gallery who were interestedly watching, and the next he was being stuck in the ass with a hypodermic needle the size of a can of pringles.

“Did you just roofie me?” Ichigo yelled after he picked himself up from the floor. He had friction burn on his fucking forehead, he was sure of it. “What the hell was that?”

“Stamina,” Kurotsuchi replied indifferently, hefting the syringe. He depressed the plunger a little and white goo spurted out. “My latest invention. Who do you think made the pills that keep shinigami moving long after their bodies have given up?”

“Urahara?”

Kurotsuchi’s glare could have frozen magma. “Ingrate! I bestow upon you my greatest scientific contribution in the last week, and this is the accolade I receive? You should feel honoured.”

“I feel assaulted.” Ichigo rubbed his forehead and got back to his feet. Beside him, the wheel was still spinning gently with momentum. He looked over to Isane, who quickly dropped a small camera and slammed a drawer shut. “Can I stop for the day? My ass hurts. I’m pretty healthy, you know.”

Tucking a thin braid over her shoulder, Isane smoothed down her captain’s haori and approached. Hanatarou scanned the clipboard in front of him and checked a computer screen connected to the wheel. Behind Isane’s back, he gave Ichigo a reassuring smile and a weak thumbs up. Isane gave Kurotsuchi a mildly disapproving frown.

“Kurotsuchi-taichou, you said you’d ask Kurosaki-san before stabbing him with anything. Are you sure that concoction is safe for use?”

Scoffing loudly, Kurotsuchi just scratched his cheek with an overlong purple fingernail. “What do you think I’m testing it on him for?”

“Testing?” Ichigo repeated.

“Testing?” Isane cried. “You said—”

“I say a lot of things! How can you expect me to keep track of all of them. My Nemu takes all those notes. Do you see her here?”

“Am I gonna die?” Ichigo asked over the top of their burgeoning argument, leaning around to look at the injection site. It still stung. “Hanatarou, does my ass look weird? Come look at my ass.”

“Okay,” said Hanatarou, ambling over peacefully. He squinted and prodded for a few seconds. “There’s no immediate allergic reaction. The gauge of the needle was pretty wide though. Do you want a bandage?” He reached into his kosode and pulled out a small array of various-patterned sticking plasters. One of them had a sad face on it, which Ichigo identified with strongly. He grabbed it and stuck it in place with a small smack.

“Thanks.”

Before Ichigo could make a move toward escaping, Kurotsuchi grabbed Ichigo by the chin and dragged his face in close. Way too close. Blinking into weird yellow eyes for an instant, he saw Kurotsuchi frown horribly.

“You should have shown some reaction by now. Is it your human blood, I wonder? Your quincy side? Or the hollow aspect?” Impossibly, he pushed his face even closer. “Kurosaki Ichigo, have you considered donating your body to science while you’re still alive?”

Jerking his chin out of the crushing grip, Ichigo reared away.

“You’re exactly the kind of stranger danger example kids are warned about in school, you know.”

“Mm,” was the unimpressed reply. “Children are small-minded fools. Very little nutritional value.”

“What—”

“Isane!” Kurotsuchi shouted. “I’m leaving. Send me the outcome of those tests.” Marching past Hanatarou with a put-upon scowl of displeasure, the captain of the twelfth division exited the way he’d apparently come: in liquid form and through a small drain in the floor. Ichigo watched after his departure for a moment.

“You ever wonder if he’s kind of nuts?”

“There’s no wondering about it,” Isane murmured, following his gaze. When he glanced at her unhappily, she caught herself and gave him a small smile. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. He’s reckless, but he’s not stupid. Get back in touch if you have any problems, but from all the reports you have a perfectly clean bill of health. I pronounce you officially cleared for duty. See you next year.”

It all just sounded like a polite way of kicking him out of the barracks. Pulling his clothes back on behind a small screen that barely came up to his shoulders, Ichigo wondered if Isshin could just send them a medical certificate next year. Actually, on second thought, his father would probably subject him to worse torments than a damn treadmill of death and a shot in the ass.

Mentally shelving the madness for another year, Ichigo exited the examination room, turning for the senkaimon and hopping over the rooftops for his way home. Maybe he should be grateful, he thought as the gates opened. If a sore ass was the worst of his troubles, he was probably doing okay.

Yeah. Things were fine.

 

* * *

 

Sixteen hours later and back in the world of the living, Ichigo collapsed on the floor of his living room with smoke rising off his skin. It smelled kinda like barbecue.

“Must be Tuesday,” Karin muttered, dragging Ichigo out of the sunbeam he’d passed out in. “Yuzu, call Dad. Ichigo just stepped into the sun and caught fire.”

“Okay!” Yuzu chirped, pulling the first aid kit out from under the kitchen sink. She threw a bottle across the room. “Use the aloe vera spray while I get him from the clinic.”

Pulling the blinds closed on all the windows, Karin sighed to herself and flipped the overhead light on. Ichigo couldn’t seem to go six months without something completely out of left field happening to him, around him, or because of him. They were probably overdue for some weird shit. Grabbing the bottle from the floor, she knelt down at his side, listening for Yuzu bringing Isshin out of his clinic.

“You look like crap,” she told Ichigo, whose lashes were flinching, his eyes moving beneath their lids. His usually healthy complexion had blanched unnaturally, giving him the look of a fresh corpse. A quick check showed his heart was beating as strong as ever, his breathing shallow but steady. Poking her way down his chest, she couldn’t feel any impromptu hollow holes turning up. After everything he’d come through, Karin found it hard to be too concerned when unexpected things happened to him. Spritzing the angry red burns on his arms and cheek with the aloe, she tucked her legs into a neat fold and resigned herself to wait.

“This is not how I planned my day, just so you know.”

Ichigo, forever contrary, didn’t bother to answer. Instead he inhaled a long, wheezing sort of death rattle. It was on the exhale that Karin saw something that had her leaning in as far as she could go.

“What the shit, Ichigo,” she breathed, pinching his top lip between her fingers and lifting it up. “What the actual shit?”

Nestled between her brother’s straight white teeth, right where a slightly pointed canine would be located, was a fucking serpent’s fang. It was an inch long! Pushing his entire top lip up revealed its matching partner on the other side of his jaw.

A pair of fangs.

A corpse-white pallor.

An inability to stand sunlight.

Slowly, under Karin’s fascinated gaze, Ichigo’s eyes slowly fluttered open to reveal irises coloured the flat, ancient gold of a reptile. He blinked up at her once, twice. His pupils shrank to a vertical slit.

“Karin?” he croaked, snake-eyed, sharp-toothed and so very, very clearly a vampire.

Karin maced him straight in the eyes with the aloe vera.

_“Dad!”_

 

* * *

 

To say Ichigo was having a shitty day would be an understatement of the highest order.

First of all, he was still blinking plant juice out of his vision after Karin’s impulsive attack, which in his opinion was a gross overreaction of what really just boiled down to some physiological changes. He was still himself. Just…with a few additions he hadn’t expected. Like the weird, carved out feeling in his stomach he couldn’t shake. Whatever Kurotsuchi had dosed him with, it hadn’t included wanting to drink blood like everyone thought he might try to do.

Shifting on the end of one of the clinic beds, Ichigo frowned as Isshin broke yet another syringe trying to get through his skin. Beside him, Urahara was scratching his chin scruff and making interested sounds. Forever in the know whenever something strange happened in town, he’d pretended he was in the neighbourhood when Ichigo’s reiatsu had fluctuated strangely. It was actually way more likely there was some kind of sly surveillance network hooked up around the house that fed directly to the shop. Or Isshin had a panic button just for him.

“Ichigo, stop being difficult!” Isshin finally snapped, throwing the needle into the biohazard bin. “If I can’t get any blood we can’t analyse what the hell you’ve turned into.”

“Dracula,” Yuzu said helpfully, straightening her nurse cap. Karin rolled her eyes.

“More like Renfield.”

“Not that guy!” Ichigo said hotly. “He ate bugs! At least make it an actual vampire.”

“Okay, Edward Cullen.”

“Keep it up, Karin, I’ll show you—” He was interrupted by Isshin’s hand slamming down on his shoulder, keeping him seated.

“Now, now,” Urahara said placatingly, before Ichigo could let loose the hiss building in the back of his throat. “We can debate the popular culture figure most like Kurosaki-san after we find out exactly what Kurotsuchi-taichou dosed him with.” His gaze switched to Ichigo, still a little amused. “Forgive me for asking this of you, but would you mind biting a small hole in your own wrist? You seem to have an interesting kind of hierro effect on your skin.”

“Gross,” Ichigo complained, but turned over his forearm to stare at his wrist. His teeth were long as hell, it probably wouldn’t take much to puncture his skin. He could even see the slight jump in his wrist where his pulse was visible in a pale blue vein. Listening hard, maybe he could even hear the rush of it, torrents of fresh dark red blood pouring through him. If he breathed in he imagined he could smell it too; the hot-metal gush of it—

“Oh, sick,” Karin exclaimed.

“Oh dear.” Urahara’s fan snapped open.

Isshin just sighed and separated Ichigo’s teeth from his own wrist with brute force.

Feeling his mouth give way with a pop of suction, Ichigo lapped at the blood spilling over his lips. In the corner of his eye, Yuzu turned and quietly heaved into the deep sink at the back of the clinic. That was probably a red flag that he’d done something weird, but man did he feel better all of a sudden. He blinked dumbly at Isshin as he stabbed a fresh needle into the opening his teeth had created, right into the vein. Six vials were drawn in quick succession, with Karin wiping his mouth for him with a wet gauze pad while it happened. Urahara watched the entire thing with kind eyes, carefully pocketing two of the vials.

“Well, I have my suspicions after that performance, but I’ll need to check to be sure,” Urahara told him. “I’ve been trying to keep an eye on Kurotsuchi-taichou’s research projects, particularly the ones he can’t directly test on his arrancar subjects. I believe his last round of study involved the effect of an anti-hollow drug that can biologically mimic the effects of a zanpakutou.” Leaning in, Urahara tipped Ichigo’s chin up with the tip of his cane. “Kurosaki-san, you say you have no desire to eat your family? Not even a little?”

“Of course not,” Ichigo replied sourly, pursing his lips so Karin could dab them clean. “Why the hell would I want to eat them? They smell gross.” He blinked. “And also because they’re my family. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Isshin repeated with some suspicion, turning on his small stool to peg the syringe into the bin. He pushed a thick gauze pad to Ichigo’s wrist and directed him to press his free hand to the wound. “Urahara, whatever this drug was for, its effects have made it clear he can’t stay here while we find the cure. The sunlight allergy and his appearance can’t be hidden without confining him to the house without visitors, and his friends are some of the nosiest reiatsu-sensitive bastards I have ever met.”

“They’re not nosy,” Ichigo muttered half-heartedly. They really were.

“Ah, not to worry! I have just the place in mind,” Urahara said pleasantly. “But we’ll naturally need to separate your shinigami form from your human one. I’m sure Kon will oblige us. It will all be fine, Kurosaki-san. I’ll look after you every step of the way.”

That didn’t sound too good to Ichigo. Well, to be fair, confining him to his room for however many days or weeks it took to wrestle the cure out of Kurotsuchi didn’t sound amazing, but being shoved in Urahara’s training bunker twenty-four seven was just the kind of flashback to the old days he didn’t really want. Also Urahara was kind of heavy on watching his every move, and just knowing that would make it hard to pee.

“You should probably go,” Karin told him, because she was a soulless gremlin who would never miss him. “I mean, you just tried to eat yourself. At least if you go you can eat Urahara instead.”

“I’m not eating Urahara. I’m not eating anyone.” Lifting the gauze pad, Ichigo was both unnerved and relieved to see the bite mark had already healed over, turning into two pale pink punctures on his inner wrist. “But I guess you’re right. Whatever is happening is kind of messed up. I don’t want anyone to have to see me like this.” Twisting slightly, he watched Yuzu give him a shaky, brave smile. “It’ll be okay, Yuzu. Promise. I’ll go away for a while and when I come back, everything will be just like it was.”

“You don’t have to go, you know!” Yuzu cried, wringing her hands a little. “It’s really not that gross! I can make you a special diet, and we’ll close all the blinds, and if Ishida-kun, Sado-kun or Orihime-chan turn up I’ll beat them unconscious with my wooden spoon.”

“My precious daughter,” Isshin said proudly. “But as much as I love your threats of violence, I refuse to have the dark prince here chewing on my veins in the middle of the night.” A big hand squeezed his shoulder hard enough to cut off the blood supply. “Ichigo, the power of Christ compels you—you’re going with Urahara.”

“We’re not even christian,” Ichigo grumped, but let himself be bullied out of the clinic to pack a small bag of clothes. “This is such bullshit. It’s not like I have leprosy.”

His arguments made exactly zero difference however, and an hour later Ichigo was in his shinigami form standing in Urahara’s underground training facility, squinting up at its artificial blue sky and trying to figure out exactly where he was supposed to camp down there. Surely he’d be given at least a sleeping bag, right? Should he have brought his pillow?

“Sorry to impose,” Ichigo finally said, wondering why Urahara was standing on the wooden frame he used for opening garganta. He hefted his backpack awkwardly. It didn’t have much in it really, just some toiletries and a couple of books if he got bored. The clothing thing wasn’t really an issue in his shinigami form. Squinting up at Urahara, he tried to think of something to say. “Tell me again what you think is actually happening to me?”

Urahara stopped checking the frame to tug his hat down slightly. It didn’t really have the same effect when Ichigo was standing twenty-five feet below him.

“Well, you were happy to drink your own blood but had no desire to attack your family, which I think speaks a lot to the idea you’ve been dosed with a drug that will make you hunt and devour hollows—or creatures that contain a certain element of hollow in them. Vizards are probably also on your menu.” Urahara leapt down to the ground in one quick flash and patted Ichigo’s shoulder in a sad-but-true kind of way. “Kurotsuchi-taichou has been researching a way…hm, a way that rejected recruits can still be useful to the cause. A ‘no zanpakutou, no worries’ approach, I suppose.”

Ichigo blinked at the hand on his shoulder, then back at Urahara. “So why test it on me?”

“You’re somewhat off the books, I suspect.” Urahara smiled. “And very hardy, besides.”

“I’m a guinea pig?!” Somewhere deep inside, Ichigo wasn’t even a little bit surprised, but he owed it to his own self-confidence to be completely outraged. “How does he get away with this shit? What if I start—what if I eat an important hollow? I’m strong enough, aren’t I? Isn’t there a plan in place?”

“Oh, Kurosaki-san,” Urahara sighed. His expression was inordinately pleased. “The idea in twelfth division is that there are no important hollows. But I think you were a good choice in that respect: your personal standards won’t allow you to act in the manner of any animal. Which is why I feel very comfortable putting this evidence gathering collar on you to monitor your progress.”

“A what—” The final metallic click of Urahara securing a wide band of black around his neck like a choker said he wasn’t really being given a choice in the matter. “Why do you need a collar? I’m right here, I can just text you.”

Urahara smiled in the manner of someone who knew it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

“Not where you’re going.”

The raised palm of a kidou master was the last thing Ichigo saw before the entire world went strange and dark.

 

* * *

 

When Ichigo woke up, the world was still strange and dark. The moon overhead was in phase but it was facing the wrong way. Actually, the sky like that was really damn familiar. Not in a good way.

“Please don’t be Hueco Mundo,” Ichigo said to the midnight sky. His hands fisted in soft, fine sand that he imagined was pure white. “Oh god, it is Hueco Mundo.”

“Specifically it’s Las Noches,” said an unfamiliar voice behind his head. A stick poked him in the temple. “Or the outer regions of it, anyway. I wanted to give you a sporting chance before I ate you, so here we are. You fell out of the sky like…three hours ago? Sorry in advance for taking off half your clothes. I got bored while you were asleep.”

It was a little breezy around his chest. His feet were bare as well. Wondering exactly how angry to be about that, Ichigo tilted his head back until he could see the upside down face of a hollow crouched over him. It had the humanoid shape of a vasto lorde and kind of a piggy looking mask. As the desert breeze flowed over them both, it brought with it the scent of the hollow. Again, the cavernous echo of hunger in his stomach reverberated through him, but this time it was stronger. Far stronger.

Veins like a network seemed to stand out just under its visible skin, each one pumping strange blood that smelled incredible; better than anything he’d sucked out of his own arm. This was pure hollow blood. Pushing at his new fang teeth with his tongue, Ichigo slowly rolled over and pushed himself up off the sand. The hollow really had stripped him down to his hakama. Kind of nice of it really, Ichigo’s lizard brain whispered, since he was about to make a real mess.

“You’ve got weird eyes for a shinigami,” the hollow said factually. It didn’t seem bothered, idly scratching at its plated stomach. The exposed skin it showed was excessively pink. Ichigo took a slow step forward. “Is that some kind of— _nyrgh!”_

Sorry, sorry, sorry, Ichigo thought as he sank his teeth through the tough hide of its thick neck, the grip of his thighs pinning the hollow’s arms to its sides. Pulling his head back in a small spray of greenish blood, Ichigo yanked its head to the side and clamped his mouth down again, this time drawing hard on the wound to gulp down the warm river pouring into his mouth. It tasted like—

“Ah! Is that a shinigami fucking Pork Chop over there? Look at them fucking over by that dune!”

“Pork Chop looks into it. Give them some space.”

“My, my. Mila Rose, you are a pervert! How shameless.”

Ichigo couldn’t pay them any attention. Females, from the voices. Name seemed familiar. He could feel the give in the hollow he was clamped around as its muscles began to weaken. Slowly, its knees buckled and they both sank to the sand. A little more. Just a little more. The run of blood into his mouth was slowing down.

“He’s…killing…me!” the hollow managed to force out. “But it’s…kind of…hot.”

The confused embarrassment that elicited actually broke through the haze of bloodlust Ichigo was engulfed in. Pulling his head back, feeling blood still warm on his lips, Ichigo stared at the hollow he was now straddling. He felt  _good_  after drinking; warm and strong and he could see for miles in the dark. His ears could pick up every movement across the sand. The air felt glacier-fresh in his lungs. He felt alive.

“Thanks for that,” Ichigo panted, getting off the weakened hollow. Sheepishly, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Sorry for the trouble.” Pork Chop just clapped a hand to his neck in disbelief. He turned his head to the women.

“Please bury me in the sand when I pass out! I don’t want anyone eating me in my sleep.” Without any further warning, the hollow keeled over. Two puncture wounds in his neck were still sluggishly leaking blood. Ichigo wasn’t ravenous anymore, but his stomach gave an interested sort of rumble anyway. He looked up to see three vaguely familiar faces.

“Well, hell,” said the tallest of the three, an amazon of a woman with dark skin and brilliant green eyes. “Kurosaki Ichigo, eating hollows in Hueco Mundo like a scavenging adjuchas? Harribel-sama is going to love this.”

“Half-naked, too,” said the long-haired one, laughing behind her sleeve.

“Not to mention picking that guy, of all possible fucking choices.” The one with two different coloured eyes looked disgusted. “Talk about dumpster diving.”

“He seemed okay,” Ichigo said half-heartedly, starting to dig a small trench to drag the unconscious hollow into. “Don’t I know you three from somewhere?”

Three sets of eyes narrowed at him in disbelief. In about point two of a second an argument had broken out among the three of them about how and why Ichigo should remember at least them out of the trio. Dragging Pork Chop by his arms, Ichigo shoved the hollow in the hole and started pushing sand over the top of him. If he could manage next time to not kill anyone, he might make it out alive from the whole shinigami vampire thing. Eating hollows. That was such a hollow thing to be doing. What had Urahara said? Kurotsuchi wanted to give shinigami the biological properties of their zanpakutou? What did that mean, eating a hollow would send it to Soul Society the same as his sword would? Ichigo didn’t want to kill anyone unless they attacked him first though.

He was just shrugging back into his kosode and tucking everything back into place when the three of them stopped long enough to give him the evil eye.

“Have you seen my shoes around here?” he asked, casting an eye about the sand. Going completely barefoot around Hueco Mundo sounded like a bad idea. “I kind of need—”

“Shut up!” Mismatched eyes said, stabbing a finger at his face. “You’re coming with us back to Las Noches! Footwear will be the least of your worries soon, Mister Leech. Harribel-sama is going to eat _you_  for breakfast.”

“I’m a vampire,” Ichigo said with a hand on his chest, wounded by the insult. “And it’s only for a couple of days. I didn’t want to eat that pig guy, he was just right there! Don’t take me to your leader, she’s doesn’t, uh,” Ichigo thought fast, “she doesn’t need her eyes soiled by the sight of such a uh, lowly shinigami. Shinigami substitute, even.” It wasn’t Harribel he was worried about. It was Nel. Big Nel with her happy face and spine-shattering hugs. What if he ended up biting her too? She’d smash his skull like candy glass.

Amazingly, his words gave the three arrancar women pause.

“He is kind of seedy looking.”

“Blood all around his mouth.”

“Covered in sand.”

As one, they looked at him, then back at each other. “Bathtime,” they said in unison.

Ichigo’s stomach dropped.

“No,” he said, taking one step back, then another. “No there’s no need, really. It’s fine!”

It wasn’t fine. Severely handicapped by the upstanding moral fibre that said he couldn’t punch relatively non-violent women right in their faces as they dogpiled him, Ichigo tried simply to run away. He was instantly crippled by the first crystallised tree branch he stepped on with his naked feet.

“My name is Mila Rose,” said the amazon grimly, right before she reached into Ichigo’s hakama and fumbled around his dick. “You should know that since my hand is in your pants.”

“Hey! I’m flattered, but— _whoa!"_  With a yank of fabric, his shinigami-issued traditional underwear unravelled and was yanked out of the slit in his hakama in one long length of white fabric. Without any further comment, she began binding his wrists behind his back with it. “That’s gross. I haven’t been wearing that for long, but that’s gross. You could have used my sash.”

“We don’t need to see pale shinigami ass after your hakama fell down,” said Eyes. “Now march, slave. March for the glory of Harribel-sama, and the top two layers of skin you’re going to lose once we get you in the bathhouse.”

“I could eat all of you,” Ichigo spluttered as he was shoved into walking. “It’s only because I’m a decent person that you’re all alive right now!”

“Can it, tick boy.”

" _Vampire._ " That earned him a foot planted against his right ass-cheek, startling him into a jog. His foot hurt. Fuming and with no fucking swords to stab them with—Urahara had been apparently serious about researching the drug, leaving him with nothing but teeth for defence, that fucker—Ichigo sulked and stumbled his way in half-ripped clothes, his chin still sticky with hollow blood. At least his stomach was mostly settled.

He really, really didn’t want to go to Las Noches though. But the enormous white walls of it, half-crumbled to hell as they were, still rose up ahead with all the foreboding he’d felt the first time. He’d never gone in through the main gates before. Not while it was under a proper rule, anyway. How the hell was he going to explain himself to Nel? She’d understand the Urahara component, but he’d almost killed an innocent hollow who’d just wanted to undress him in his sleep and then eat him. Hueco Mundo had different rules for that, sure, but a shinigami doing it was almost like a declaration of war. And weren’t they supposed to be operating under a truce?

Ichigo was ruminating on the concept of just flash-stepping his way into the darkness and praying he was faster than they were without his bankai, when a familiar surge of reiatsu burned at the edges of his awareness. It was a wild flare of threatening energy, bright and consuming like a forest fire in a drought. Ichigo felt hungry just thinking about it, but even he knew he didn’t have a chance in hell making  _that_  his prey.

“I’m fucked,” Ichigo whispered fatalistically, feeling that bright force sense him right back. He looked back at the three arrancar who were exchanging suddenly nervous glances. “I don’t suppose you can take him, can you?”

“Are you kidding,” said eyes, so flatly it wasn’t even a question. “He’s a monster.”

Fuck. “But I’m your prey, right? You have to defend me or you’ll look weak.”

“Weak but alive,” said sleeve-mouth, averting her eyes. Beside her, Mila Rose was frowning ahead at the gates of Las Noches. They had seconds at most.

“There’s no point in running,” she said finally. “He’s not exactly the type to let someone get away. Come on.” A strong hand planted between his shoulders, propelling him forward again. “Apacci, Sung-Sun, we’re not attacking.”

“No shit,” said Apacci, squinting at him with her strange eyes. “He took down Quilge in one hit. Ayon doesn’t need that kind of pain over this scruffy loser.”

“Listen, patchwork—” Ichigo interrupted himself as he realised what she’d said. “Quilge? That jail asshole?”

“Oh sure,  _his_  name you remember!” Mila Rose snapped, right as the approaching reiatsu surged and vanished.

It reappeared three feet from them in a blue-white twister of power, rising like electricity and steam off a figure Ichigo hadn’t seen since Soul Society almost crumbled around them. The three arrancar stiffened angrily at the pressure.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was still every bit as tall and lean as he remembered; still dressed in black and white, zipped and belted like he’d stepped straight out of Ichigo’s memories of that day when the garganta opened. He must look like shit by comparison, Ichigo thought dolefully, but tried to square his shoulders as best he could, frowning like he absolutely had shoes on and a lethal sword on his back. Blue eyes raked over him from head to toe. The white jawbone clacked a little.

“Kurosaki Ichigo,” Grimmjow said, like he was waiting for the punchline of a really bad joke. His hand wasn’t anywhere near the pommel of his sword. “Reeking of hollow blood and no fuckin’ sword, tied up by three lesbians on the doorstep of Las Noches.”

“Lesbians?” Ichigo repeated, perking up to look at them. “I’ve never met a lesbian hollow before.”

“You already met us, you stupid shit!” The loud two leapt for him furiously with hands outstretched, looking like they were about to burst important veins in their temples. Ichigo did the only thing he could think of: ripped his hands free from the restraining knots of his underwear and dove right in at them.

Or he would have, except Grimmjow grabbed a massive handful of his hair and yanked him backwards.

“Kurosaki’s my kill,” he said flatly as they reared back in surprise. “Been that way since before Aizen gutted your master.” His lip curled up slightly, showing teeth bared in a snarl. The hand on Ichigo’s skull squeezed hard enough that he immediately stopped worrying about Nel altogether. Trying to knock it away did nothing. “You want to challenge me? Go the fuck ahead.”

“We caught him drinking hollow blood out in the east dunes,” said Apacci, who was steadfastly ignoring the nervous sweat gathering on her hairline. “Harribel-sama charges us with keeping the boundaries clear of any miscreants. Since he’s a shinigami, we’re bringing him to her.” Scowling at Ichigo, she sniffed deliberately. “After we give him a bath, anyway.”

“And new underwear,” Sung-Sun said smoothly. “He lost those to circumstance.” Grimmjow looked at him askance for a moment. Ichigo just pointed at the ribbon of white fabric on the sand. “But if you’d like, you can have him. But beware, he bites like a snake.”

“Yeah, he got Pork Chop,” Mila Rose added. Grimmjow’s expression said he had no idea who that was.

“I don’t give a shit,” he announced, hooking his arm around Ichigo’s neck and tugging him back into a choke hold. “The shinigami is mine. If Harribel wants him, she can come find me.”

“But that’s—” Another argument broke out, but it sounded more like a dull roar to Ichigo, whose eyes had found the forearm tucked just beneath his chin. He was tucked pretty close to Grimmjow all over actually, definitely close enough to hear his heart pumping strong and loud, rushing through the lacework of veins beneath his skin. Fat arteries that looked like they’d gush for long, long minutes were close enough that if Ichigo could just twist his way free without being noticed, he could get the smooth skin covering them in his mouth.

But did he really want to bite Grimmjow? On the list of things to do to a self-sworn enemy while he had no sword, it seemed pretty damn suicidal. Yet he smelled really, really good, like the night desert air and salt and—okay, he smelled a lot like everyone else did, come to think, but there was a quality to his blood that was making Ichigo’s teeth ache.

With Grimmjow and Harribel’s fracción snarling and bickering, Ichigo decided to bank on the one thing that would keep Grimmjow from killing him: he still wanted his fair fight one day. Pushing the arm at his throat back and breaking the hold, Ichigo twisted and sank his teeth straight into the firm give of Grimmjow’s neck.

“Ow! Fucking asshole!” Again, Ichigo’s body clamped around his prey like a trap snapping shut, an instinct that left Grimmjow rigid and unable to move his legs or arms. Humming as hot blood—red this time, a welcome change—gushed freely into his mouth, Ichigo let his new skills take over, detaching his bite to lap over the wounds and cover them with his lips again before he could lose too much.

Ichigo was so taken by the act that he completely failed to register the tension in Grimmjow’s neck and shoulder until he’d lunged around and bit him right back. The hot, deep sting of sharp teeth ripping into the meat of his neck just under his jaw shocked him so badly his hands slipped, freeing Grimmjow’s arms. The fist that rammed into his stomach not only detached his mouth but sent him reeling backwards, tearing his neck open around the clench of teeth still buried in it. The arterial spurt of his own blood sprayed the tres bestias’ faces. Yeah, that was their name, Ichigo thought in stunned satisfaction as he hit the sand. He was yanked back up an instant later by a fist in the collar of his uniform.

“More’n a hundred years scrapping around this place, and not once has any fucker ever taken a bite outta me,” Grimmjow seethed over him, right in his face. Blood was dripping off his lips and onto Ichigo’s chin. His own blood, hitting his skin. “And in five fucking minutes, with no sword, you got me. You glow-eyed son of a bitch.”

“Let your guard down,” Ichigo wheezed, his lips parted to show his teeth in a grin. He could feel his neck prickle and jump as it healed over the bite. He knew Grimmjow could see it happening. “Thanks for the meal.”

Grimmjow snarled. Up close it was enough to turn his heart off. Behind him, Mila Rose looked uncertain about whether to intervene or just leave. Ichigo switched his eyes to Grimmjow’s. Even half spattered with blood and pale with the amount taken from him, his eyes burned with savage, animal rage. It was a good look, especially with Ichigo’s blood smeared across his mouth.

“I’m gonna fucking eat you alive,” Grimmjow said with deadly promise. “I’m gonna suck the marrow out of your brittle little shinigami bones. I’m gonna—”

Ichigo leaned in against the fist in his collar long enough to suck the blood off Grimmjow’s lower lip in a long, languorous pull. Somehow his blood tasted better off someone else’s skin. Or maybe just Grimmjow’s, with the way he was crackling with reiryoku and rage. Satisfied, Ichigo sank back again to let the threatening speech continue.

Grimmjow was locked up over him, his eyes wide and fixed. He didn’t even look angry anymore, like everything had been blown clean out of his head. His expression was reeling.

“C’mon, I’m ready now,” Ichigo said. “Keep going with the threats.”

“…right,” Grimmjow said finally, speaking almost to himself in a daze. Releasing Ichigo’s clothes, casual like nothing had ever happened, Grimmjow got to his feet in one unsteady movement, hand clapped to his bleeding neck—and blurred completely out of sight, sonido carrying him so far out of the area Ichigo couldn’t even begin to track him. Just totally gone.

Silence fell. For exactly two seconds.

“Did he just  _run away?_ " Apacci cried into the stillness, a rising delight in her voice bordering on hysterics. “Grimmjow just ran away from his own prey because he kissed him? This is the best day of my life. Mila Rose, punch me in the tits. I might be dreaming.” Agreeably, Mila Rose punched her in the right breast so hard she skidded in the sand for three feet. She whooped. “Yes!”

Sung-Sun made a thoughtful sound. “It’s certainly strange. Perhaps Kurosaki Ichigo is Grimmjow’s Achilles heel, so to speak, in a lot of ways.”

“We should definitely bring the shinigami inside.” Mila Rose sounded decisive. “Pamper him. Feed him. Keep him outside Grimmjow’s reach like a tasty treat released only for good behaviour.”

“Feed him?” Apacci sounded doubtful. “He’s a bit rough. Harribel-sama could handle him though.”

“And Nelliel,” Sung-Sun added. “We’ll cover him with women. Grimmjow’s effectively given up his claim by abandoning him, hasn’t he? Let’s make a show of it.”

Trying to be mad about being discussed as part of some wicked plan but mostly too damn sated to move, Ichigo released a long breath and sank back against the sand. He ran his tongue across his teeth and swallowed, still tasting Grimmjow’s blood in the back of his throat. Maybe it was just arrancar blood, but he doubted it. Something in it had tasted absolutely primal, feral, like he’d taken in a single long gulp of everything that made Grimmjow who he was. Ichigo wanted to taste it again. And to do that, it looked like he had to make some weird alliances.

“I’m on board, but someone needs to find me some shoes.”

Apacci meandered over, smiling down at him like a benevolent demon.

“What makes you think you’ll be wearing  _any_  clothes? Harem boy.”

Ichigo took it back: the hell with Grimmjow. The hell with Hueco Mundo in general and definitely the hell with Urahara Kisuke.

“I hope you’re enjoying this, you freak,” Ichigo said down into the collar, furiously impotent under the circumstances. Sung-Sun was approaching again, this time snapping his underwear at him like a belt. He could actually see her hands for once.

The collar crackled with static.

 _“It’s an unexpected turn of events, but yes, quite enjoying myself._ _”_ There was only one person that tiny, pleased voice could belong to. _“_ _I’m going to give you the full week down there. Stay safe, Kurosaki-san!"_

Apacci and Sung-Sun exchanged a glance over the words the collar spoke, then collectively shrugged.

“Come on, Kurosaki! Let’s go meet Harribel-sama.”

Officially the worst idea ever, Ichigo thought as they hauled him up to his feet.

One thing was for sure: he was  _never_  biting Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only god can judge me


	2. Chapter 2

It only got worse from there.

It began with the bath, which as it was quickly revealed, wasn’t a tub filled with water at all but some kind of faintly steaming water-like substance in a massive pool. That all seemed reasonable, since a desert wouldn’t have much water anyway, until Apacci told him with relish that the fluid had been developed by Szayelaporro and was infinitely reusable. Meaning all the hygiene-aware arrancar bathed in it. Grimmjow had bathed in it. Nel had. Just, all of them really.

In that particular moment, Ichigo was sharing his weird science bath with three naked women. It was, quite possibly, the worst and most confusingly un-sexy moment of his life.

“Did Yammy use this place?” Ichigo asked weakly, waist-deep already and regretting so much. Behind him, Apacci slapped his soapy head and went back to scrubbing his back like it owed her money. To the side, Sung-Sun was cleaning under his nails with a small brush, and ever-forward, Mila Rose was completely submerged so she could scrub his legs. That wouldn’t be nearly so worrying if she wasn’t slowly making her way up his thighs to territory he wasn’t sure he wanted her washing.

“Did you ever smell Yammy?” Apacci snorted. “His funk was worse than that juice at the bottom of the garbage can.”

“What is it with you and garbage?”

“When you’re handling trash…” she replied smoothly, leaving the sentence hanging. Ichigo didn’t have any comeback to that, mainly because Mila Rose’s head had popped up for air, but she only revealed herself to the nose. She looked like an angry brown crocodile wearing a headdress.

“Give me the cloth,” Ichigo said carefully. Said cloth was dancing around his upper thigh. “You don’t want to do this. I don’t want you to do this. Let’s come to an agreement here.” Over his shoulder, Apacci handed Mila Rose the container of soap they’d been lathering him with. It disappeared under the water. Ichigo’s butt-cheeks clenched of their own accord. He was acutely aware that he could probably punch her clear across the room, that he could break Apacci’s arms and crush Sung-Sun’s throat—too aware, really. He just didn’t have any desire to hurt them. They were rough and weird, and they clearly had some kind of plan, but Ichigo couldn’t afford to piss anyone off too badly while he didn’t have his sword. Still, his patience ended when it came to being washed against his will.

“There’s no need to strain yourself, Mila Rose,” Sung-Sun said kindly, reaching into the water to pluck the cloth from her hands. Ichigo could have kissed her weird pale face. “After all,” she added, “Nelliel is headed right this way.”

“Ichigoooooo!” A very distinctive voice was calling to him from outside the cracked stone walls of the bath house. It was getting closer. “I can feel you in heeeeere!”

Feeling his face drain of blood so fast he felt a little dizzy, Ichigo yanked the cloth from Sung-Sun and dumped it on Mila Rose’s head.

“Just don’t rip anything off.”

While they cackled like hens, pinching his sides and sticking their fingers in his navel for fun, Ichigo covered his face with his hands and figured it could always be worse.

Worse came when Mila Rose’s cloth-covered hand, clinically detached and efficient as it was, went places on Ichigo’s body that no female had ever gone. Naturally, horribly, it took about ten seconds before the inevitable happened.

“Oh! Pork Chop is a lucky man!” Apacci crowed, staring over his shoulder. Mila Rose just laughed so hard bubbles erupted around her face. Only Sung-Sun remained composed, patting his hand consolingly as Ichigo tried to curl up into a ball in the water, his cheeks burning red. Apacci scrubbed his wet hair in bawdy amusement. “Mila Rose, who knew you were such a hit with the men? I thought for sure that big frame of yours would be a massive turn-off.”

Mile Rose shot out of the water like a killer whale finding a plump seal, throwing herself straight at Apacci. Ichigo had only enough time to dart to his free side. She still almost snapped his leg on the tackle. Watching them thrash and scream like two wet beasts on a discovery channel documentary, Ichigo quickly swam to the other side of the pool and tried to get himself under control.

Totally natural response, he told himself, trying not to want to die of embarrassment. Erections happened. Three naked women in a pool. Hands touching his balls. Whatever. Normal. Couldn’t be helped. He repeated the mantra for a few long moments until he had himself sorted out. Across the pool, the brawl continued under Sung-Sun’s resigned supervision.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, slim and strong as steel bars. The cheek that pressed against his was soft and marked with a deep pink estigma. Nel sighed happily and nuzzled her face against him.

“Let’s get you out of here while they’re distracted,” she whispered. “Where are your clothes?”

“They shredded them,” he whispered back, trying not to inhale her good, warm scent. He liked Nel. Nel wasn’t food. “Hey, I should tell you—”

“Later,” she promised, hauling him out of the water in one motion. Dripping wet but mostly in command of himself by then, Ichigo found his feet in the exact same moment he was spotted.

“Nelliel, wait! He has to be presentable before he goes before Harribel-sama!” Sung-Sun called, waving her arms so wildly her breasts bounced. Ichigo resolutely turned to face the wall. “Besides, he’s our prey now. We’ve claimed this blood-drinking deviant in her name.”

“Blood?” Nel turned to look at Ichigo properly. By that point he was too defeated even to cover his junk. Instead he just bared his teeth to show his fangs. Her eyes widened with interest for an instant. Then she blinked. “You can’t claim Ichigo. I don’t agree with his opinion, but Grimmjow has always been plain in his intentions—”

“Grimmjow abandoned his claim,” Mila Rose and Apacci said together, mid-throttle, grinning all over their faces. “So now he’s ours, and if you kill us to free him, Harribel-sama will have to move against you.”

Nel winced a little. “They’ve got me there,” she muttered to Ichigo. Turning back to the three, she asked, “But what do you want with Ichigo? He’s a male shinigami, and funny looking by anyone’s measure.”

“Says the one wearing a sheep skull on her head,” Ichigo said under his breath. Nel shoved him so hard he almost skidded into the pool again. She gestured to Sung-Sun.

“Well?” Nel said impatiently. “I don’t need to kill you to take him, so speak quickly.”

“We just want to tease Grimmjow for a while,” Apacci said crossly, waving Sung-Sun off when she tried to hush her. Her crossed arms and raised chin were proud. “He’s such a dick to us all the time. So we thought we’d dress his prize up like a harem boy and make him our slave for a while.” She shrugged. “Show him what he ran away from, you know. Besides, the shinigami needs blood to drink. We’re happy to donate it, for a price.” Hesitating briefly, she added, “You could get in on it too, Nelliel.”

“We’re happy to share,” Sung-Sun added serenely.

“The more the merrier.” Mila Rose smiled widely as she wrung out her hair. “We all know how possessive Grimmjow is, and I don’t think he actually meant to dump this shinigami like—”

“—hot trash,” Apacci said smugly. Ichigo gave her the finger. “But he did, and now his favourite toy is going to give us all body rubs. In the throne room.”

With every sentence they uttered, Ichigo could see himself losing Nel, little by little. By the time they got to the part about body rubs—and like hell he was—she had gone from rigidly disapproving of their game to a little excited. She was also suspiciously flushed beneath the bright splash of her estigma. Ichigo started looking around nervously for a towel. It seemed in vain. Did people just air dry in Las Noches?

Not for the first time, he cursed the hell out of Grimmjow for ditching him there with them. So he’d licked a little blood off his mouth. Big deal! This was a new circle of torment he’d never asked for or earned. Worst of all, he was starting to feel a little hungry again. What kind of bottomless pit his stomach had become, he didn’t know. Maybe because he hadn’t killed anything? He didn’t intend to, either, which meant he’d have to drink every few hours to stave off…whatever that feeling was. All he knew was that when he was focusing on it, the tres bestias and Nel all seemed to glow from within with healthy, untapped veins and their pulse started to fill his ears like thunder.

Running his tongue across his teeth again, unsettled, Ichigo only sighed when Nel gave a reluctant approval to oversee their filthy revenge plot, citing that someone had to look out for Ichigo’s best interests. Sure. It totally didn’t explain why she was suddenly tucking her hair away from the side of her neck.

“Don’t worry Ichigo,” she whispered as the other three scrambled their way out of the pool to dress, “I won’t let them do anything strange. Just…put up with the objectification for a while.”

“Objectification,” Ichigo repeated as he was led toward the exit. He still didn’t have any clothes. “Nel, they’re lesbians.”

Wandering past him with a towel slung around her shoulders, Mila Rose slapped him hard on the ass.

“Yeah, but if we had to pick a guy,” she said cheerfully. “Right, girls?” They laughed their agreement from the edge of the pool.

Ichigo grabbed the towel from Mila Rose and wrapped it around his waist so tightly he cut off the circulation.

Fuck this. Grimmjow sucking the marrow out of his bones would be a relief.

He had to escape.

* * *

 

He didn’t escape.

Telling himself that he was vigilantly biding his time, Ichigo let them oil him up until he shone like some kind of slippery trophy, then bore the ceremonial laughter as they dressed him in a white loincloth fastened with thin gold chain. The cloth had some from one of Sung-Sun’s old sleeves. The chain had been unearthed from the rubble of Aizen’s old chambers, and nobody wanted to know what, why or when he’d ever needed it. Ichigo felt cursed just wearing it but he was able to keep a little bit of dignity, so on it stayed.

Nel watched the entire thing with rapt attention, sitting cross-legged on the end of a white daybed, its end held up with a chunk of stone where one of the legs was missing. With her sword unbuckled and her chin propped on one fist, she looked more like a girl at a slumber party than a ferocious warrior maiden. It softened some of the burning resentment Ichigo was feeling about the whole ordeal.

What it didn’t soften, however, was the hollowed-out pit of hunger that was slowly growing in his stomach. Hah. Hollowed-out, Ichigo thought semi-deliriously as his hair was brushed in an attempt to tame its spiky riot. He was sitting there surrounded by four pretty arrancar women with warm skin, calloused hands and sleek muscles, their blood hot and heady in their veins. Veins that were close enough for him to just open his jaws and sink his teeth into…but the scent wasn’t right. Ichigo was surprised to find he was hungry as hell, but he was actively craving something different to the banquet in front of him.

“Fucking Grimmjow,” he muttered sourly. Pausing in the act of licking her finger and smoothing down his eyebrows, Sung-Sun nodded in commiseration. He couldn’t help his unhappy frown. “Why’d he run away? He’s not the type.”

“You probably confused his instincts. You turned fight into fuck, I suppose.” She seemed completely at ease with the crude language. Ichigo blinked like he was having a revelation.

“Grimmjow thinks I was coming onto him?” But that wasn’t—! Wait. Ichigo brushed away her hand to stare up at her. “Am I that bad?”

“Yes.” Apacci tousled his hair fondly, causing Mila Rose to curse loudly and start brushing all over again. “Well, no. He’d have punched you into paste if he hated it.” She exchanged a look with Sung-Sun. “Which I guess says a lot, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“I’d believe it,” Nel added from her perch across from them. Why she got the cushioned daybed and he was sitting on a piece of old stone bench, he didn’t know. “Grimmjow talks like Ichigo is the one that got away.” She cleared her throat meaningfully, affecting a fierce tone to match her expression. “Kurosaki and I have unfinished business, Nelliel, and one day we’re going to see who ends up on top.”

“On top?” Ichigo repeated, strangled.

All four of them dissolved into horrible, secret female laughter.

Seriously, Ichigo thought, dropping his face into his palms. Fuck this.

* * *

 

Harribel was no better. She sat on the throne with her thighs parted almost to the point of an up-skirt peek and her plated wrists flat on the marble arms, frowning down at him like he was some strange new species of bug. She did, however, lean forward to stare intently at his lack of clothing.

“We busted him eating Pork Chop,” Apacci said proudly, everything in her voice saying she’d be positioning a foot on his carcass if he was a dead thing she’d actually hunted. “Drinking his blood, actually. Grimmjow kindly gave him to us.”

Harribel’s expression said she had no idea who Pork Chop was, either. Ichigo was starting to wonder if the piggy hollow had just been a weird fever dream. Harribel sat back and shook her head. Bright blonde hair settled against her cheek, resting on the jagged blue markings on her face. Belatedly, Ichigo realised she was sort of beautiful.

“Grimmjow doesn’t give anything away,” Harribel said finally. “What he calls his own he consumes, destroys and moves on.”

“Uh, for the record, I’m not anyone’s,” Ichigo said gamely, crossing his arms over his chest in a way he hoped looked confident, not defensive. “All this prey talk and claiming, it’s got nothing to do with me. That’s arrancar stuff.”

“And you’re in Hueco Mundo,” Harribel said, unruffled. “Grimmjow named you his kill long ago. Short of Nelliel or myself fighting him to the death, that remains unchanged in these lands.” Green eyes switched to her fracción. “Find me Grimmjow.” Stiffening like she’d been stuck with an electrical wire, Mila Rose blurred out of the throne room with what looked like every ounce of sonido she had.

Ichigo sighed loudly and rubbed his stomach. Nel just gave him an apologetic look and rested her hand comfortably on her sword hilt, like maybe she expected Grimmjow to burst in with his blade out. The other two just shifted uneasily, probably having expected something completely different in reaction from their queen. But maybe she was level-headed, if she was considering Grimmjow might go entirely batshit. Prey. What a load of shit. For the millionth time, he wished for Zangetsu.

From high atop the dais, Harribel watched him for a moment, then gestured for his approach. “Up here, shinigami. Let me see your affliction.”

Startled by the invitation, he gathered his strength to jump. How’d she even see from up there?

“Mind your manners,” Apacci hissed as he leapt. He heard her curse as she got a look straight up his loincloth. He was still snorting as he landed on the small stone platform before her throne. She wasn’t miles in the air the way Aizen’s had been, but it was still elevated enough that it seemed like she sat in judgement. He approached with wary steps.

“You’re pale,” she commented, beckoning him closer, only stopping him when his knees hit the edge of the throne. One shove of her hand put him on his knees between her thighs. Alarm bells rang, but Harribel just tipped his chin up to look him dead in the eye. “These eyes aren’t human. What do you see with them that you couldn’t see before?” Strong hands gripped his jaw, but they were careful. Ichigo tried to think, but his hackles were rising. Her reiatsu was contained, but it shoved at his awareness like a wall closing around him.

“I see better than before,” he admitted. “In the dark, up close, whatever. And I see blood. Veins and arteries and stuff, only I don’t really see it, it’s more like I know where to find it under the skin.” Wondering if he should say it, he blurted out, “I bit Grimmjow.”

Harribel huffed a small breath of surprise. “You got a bite on Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.”

“Yeah. He wasn’t happy.”

“Nor should he be.” She thumbed up his lip to look at the fangs. “Nelliel said this is temporary?”

Ichigo nodded around her fingers. Her scent was surrounding him, making him grit his teeth and shake his head away from her hands. He was absolutely not biting the queen of Hueco Mundo. Manners, Apacci had said. Harribel read his face intently for a moment and drew back. Ichigo tried not to sigh in relief.

“Hueco Mundo owes you a debt for disposing of the leader of the sternritter,” she said thoughtfully, “and it’s for this reason I won’t have you locked up for the duration of this strange transformation. You’ve proved yourself an ally to our kind, and Nelliel trusts you. You also haven’t harmed my fracción, though I’m sure you’ve had the means and motive to do so.”

“They’re not so bad,” Ichigo shrugged, settling back on his haunches. “But…I’m getting hungrier, and I know this is just some twelfth division potion bullshit but I might be better off locked up. I don’t actually want to hurt anyone.” He scratched his damp hair. “I don’t want to bite Nel or the others.”

“Because they’re women.”

“Because I like them.” He glanced to the side, studying a marble pillar that was spiderwebbed with cracks. “They’re crazy, but they’re just trying to have some fun at Grimmjow’s expense. I’m not mad.”

In the corner of his eye, Harribel’s chin lifted in faint surprise. Lifting one arm from the throne, she smashed it back down on the marble with such force the bone plates gauntleting her forearm shattered apart, revealing a slim brown wrist. Ichigo stared at the shards that broke away, picking one up to stare at it.

“I didn’t know those came off.”

“Neither did I, until the sternritter came to call.” The set of her mouth wasn’t cold. “Kurosaki Ichigo, you may drink from me.” Turning her arm over, she revealed the veins of her inner wrist. Ichigo swayed forward on his knees, unthinkingly planting a palm on her thigh as he leaned in to scent the blood running beneath her skin. She was strong, damn strong. The vitality in her was almost tangible in her scent, sitting on the back of his tongue like a promise. The eyes he raised to hers were confused.

“But you’re the queen. I can’t just—”

“Can a queen expect the sacrifice of her underlings if she makes none of her own?” She glanced pointedly at her wrist again. “Drink, and you can hold to your morals and spare my fracción. And Nelliel.”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that, not while the cavern in his stomach was opening up into a wrenching canyon of hunger. Grasping her fingers with one hand and her elbow with the other, he sought the clearest vein and bit down with what he hoped was complete accuracy and maximum finesse. He didn’t want to hurt her, after all. Harribel didn’t flinch at the bite, nor when he unlatched his fangs and began to draw on the wounds. Her blood was strong and good, pure arrancar and tasting like all the strength she kept hard in check. But it didn’t hit him like a drug the way Grimmjow’s had, and eventually he drew away sated, but still somehow unfulfilled. Bothered, he wiped his mouth clean and looked up at Harribel to thank her, but she was looking over the top of him at something else.

During his small meal, Ichigo had completely missed Grimmjow’s entrance into the throne room.

“Summoning me now, Harribel? Thought you said the former espada were free when you took that fuckin’ seat.” The words were pure insolence, biting with quiet threat and even quieter sarcasm. His dormant reiryoku crested like a wave at Ichigo’s back.

“You left something of yours behind,” Harribel said clearly. “I’m not a lost and found, Grimmjow. Take him and go.”

Shit. Tearing off the bottom of his trailing loincloth, which fell to just above his knees, Ichigo wrapped the fabric around Harribel’s wrist with quick, deft motions, stemming any leftover flow of blood.

“Thanks,” he told her rapidly, leaping away and leaving her raising a nonplussed eyebrow at the dressing on her wrist. He managed to hold the cloth down this time so he didn’t flash anyone, but when he landed it was right in front of Grimmjow, who almost recoiled until he saw who it was. Like he was looking at a train wreck in slow motion, blue eyes ran from his carefully brushed hair to his oiled chest and shoulders, all the way down to the golden chain barely clinging to his hips, holding the white cloth that covered almost nothing except the essentials. Ichigo quietly wanted to die. Of all the people he didn’t want seeing him looking like some kind of tasty morsel for Harribel’s amusement, Grimmjow topped the list.

“Kurosaki.” Grimmjow looked like he couldn’t find any other words.

“Grimmjow.” Idiot, say something!

“Take him and go,” Harribel repeated, plucking absently at her wrist. “And don’t damage him. We don’t need Soul Society finding a reason to come back here.”

“Ah, he’s not going with Grimmjow,” Apacci said loudly. “Harem boy is ours by law. We challenged the claim and Grimmjow fled. The end.”

“If he argues the tres bestias’ claim, I’m willing to challenge Grimmjow,” Nelliel said calmly. The quiet song of her blade leaving its scabbard by two inches echoed through the room. “I don’t trust him to leave Ichigo undamaged while he’s in his current state.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. If Grimmjow didn’t take him, he was going back to body rubs and weird baths. And the laughter, oh god, the laughter. But if Grimmjow did try to take him as his weird prey thing, Nel was going to fight him. Hadn’t they said to the death? He didn’t want Nel to die, but since she’d been the former three, did that mean it was more likely Grimmjow would lose? Did those numbers even matter anymore? He wasn’t sure they did.

Either option was bad. Horrible. So, Ichigo shut his eyes and said something stupid.

“I’m claiming Grimmjow.”

Dead silence descended for long seconds. In front of him, Grimmjow looked like someone had just hit him with a cinderblock; eyes wide and fixed, lips parted in speechless surprise. Somewhere to his right, Apacci made a weird choking sound. Ichigo gathered up his stupid fucking bravado and kept talking.

“I bit him, didn’t I? It’s right there on his neck.” Ichigo pointed to the two partially healed punctures in the otherwise unmarked column of Grimmjow’s throat. He felt the eyes that followed his direction. Grimmjow just covered the mark with a self-conscious hand. “The rules of Hueco Mundo aren’t just for arrancar, Harribel, you said it yourself. You can tell me I’m his prey, but if that’s the case, then he’s mine too.”

Nel made a horrible face. “Ichigo, I can’t save you if you’re being stupid on purpose. That’s _Grimmjow_. The last person to claim him was Aizen Sousuke.”

“I can take him,” Ichigo said confidently. When he turned around to face Grimmjow, who was beginning to absolutely smoulder with rage, he mouthed _‘save me’_ as clearly as he could. Grimmjow blinked, losing his anger to scan his face calculatingly. Ichigo smiled back at Nel. “I mean, rules are rules, right?” He turned back to Grimmjow. _‘_ _Get me out of here!’_

“We weren’t going to do anything weird to you!” Apacci said, wounded. “You don’t need to go with that psychopath! He doesn’t even know how to brush his own hair, let alone yours!” Beside her, Mila Rose was giving him a sulky nod. Sung-Sun was just sighing with her ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed in the stupid shinigami’ face in place. “Ichigo, we’ll look after you, you dumb fuck!”

Above them on the throne, Harribel looked like the entire conversation had generated a headache.

“Grimmjow, this is highly uncommon. Did the shinigami bite you?” Ichigo knew she knew he had, so what was the pretence for? He looked at Grimmjow, who was taut as a piano wire and ready to snap, lashing everyone in the vicinity. Did he have to admit it? Was that a hollow rule?

“He got a bite on me,” Grimmjow spat, tendons in his neck standing out with the strain of admitting it. The snarl he levelled at them all was sharp-toothed and absolutely feral with defensive anger. “And I got one on him the same time. I ain’t prey, least of all some shinigami shithead’s fuckin’ spoils of war.” The glare he hit Ichigo with was venomous. “Glow-eyed, toothy fuckin’ freak.”

Ichigo slapped his hand to his own mouth in surprise. They hadn’t been standing out, had they? Shit, Grimmjow was probably totally disgusted. Maybe he really would have to ask Harribel for a donation now and then. It didn’t seem right, though. He wouldn’t have bitten Yamamoto, or Kyouraku now that he was Captain-Commander. Some titles you just respected and didn’t bother unless you absolutely had to. Shrinking down a little, his confidence evaporating, Ichigo was entirely unprepared for the hard clamp of a palm on his shoulder, to the point he allowed himself to be spun around to face Harribel’s bemusement, right up there on high.

“Who bit who is irrelevant at this point. You’re bound.” Her green eyes were sharp on Ichigo. “Take the shinigami, and don’t let him starve. I won’t have blood in the halls.” Her handwave said everything: get out of my sight. Dismissed.

You’re his now.

The palm that slid from Ichigo’s shoulder to his throat and squeezed like a vice said volumes.

“You and I,” Grimmjow snarled against his ear, “need to talk.”


	3. Chapter 3

Later in a darkened stone-walled chamber, a sore throat and what felt like thousands of words gone, Ichigo had said everything he could possibly say to explain the situation. The dose, the transformation, the resulting relocation, his collar, the—all of it. The hunger, his teeth, the instinct that had caused him to bite. Everything. He laid it all out for Grimmjow in a way he hadn’t done for the others, knowing if anyone was owed an explanation it was him. Ichigo had basically used him to escape Nel and the tres bestias, after all.

“So you’re here for a few more days, and hollows are just supposed to let you eat them.” If there was any more room for disgust in Grimmjow’s tone he’d explode. “Who the fuck would let you bite them for free, huh?”

“Nel,” Ichigo said honestly. “And Harribel. I’m not doing this so I can bite you again, I swear. I just needed to get out from under the weird sisters over there.” He didn’t add anything about the craving buried in his guts, the thing that made him want to plug his teeth into Grimmjow’s veins and drink until he was so full of him Ichigo couldn’t even move afterwards. Grimmjow clearly hated him.

Silence hit again, and it felt kind of like a guilt-trip.

“Sorry I tried to use the bite thing,” Ichigo offered into the silence, more than ten minutes later. He was sitting on the floor against a vacant wall, knees hitched up as he squinted into the darkness. He was sure he could see a few lanterns on the shelving across from him, but maybe they were out of oil. Was this Grimmjow’s personal chamber? Las Noches was falling apart, anyway; maybe they didn’t have any supplies except for those they managed to dig out of the world they’d had before.

Grimmjow was sitting on something on the furthest edge of the room, something that looked like a wider version of Nel’s daybed, shoved all the way up against the wall. He looked like he was ready to ignore Ichigo until the end of days, so Ichigo used the mood to get up and approach the lanterns, sniffing them for oil. There were matches sitting beside them but nothing to strike them against. The walls were painted and sealed, not raw porous stone. Looking at the long-handled match, Ichigo channelled his inner Isshin and struck it off his own cheek, hoping it was one of the ones that could strike off anything. It flared in a small eruption of acrid smoke. Delighted, Ichigo quickly reached into the lantern and lit the wick, shutting the door and lowering the burn so it didn’t cause too much smoke when it caught. Before his match could die he reached into the other lantern, doing the same until he had two golden lanterns burning in the large, shadowy room. They lit the entire place in warm light, far too warm for the furious scowl of the only other occupant.

“I said I was sorry,” Ichigo said again as he approached, offering one lantern with his finger holding it aloft by the ring attached to the top. “Why don’t you ever light these?”

“Who needs ‘em? I can see fine.” Grimmjow’s words were short and sharp. He still took the lantern, holding it between his hands like a crystal ball. After another long period of silence, he said, “They took down the daylight ceiling ages back. Night’s what we’re used to.”

“Right. Makes sense.” Ichigo reached back out to take the lantern, but it was yanked out of range. Oil sloshed dangerously in its base but nothing caught or extinguished. Grimmjow’s eyes were just as volatile. Ichigo backed off like it was no big deal. His heart was hammering. Maybe he should have just gone back with Apacci and Nel and the others. They might make fun of him all the time but they never made his heart beat like he was gonna die in two minutes flat.

Taking his own lantern, Ichigo sat against the wall again, but this time he was much closer to where Grimmjow was.

In silence they sat, regarding each other through golden light and shadows. Ichigo didn’t feel inclined to say anything he hadn’t already said. Grimmjow just seemed to want to glare at him and at nothing at all. Between them, the lanterns spluttered gently and burned. Tipping his head back against the wall, feeling cold and a little bit lonely, Ichigo found himself hoping to hell Urahara kept his word and only meant to exile him there for the week. He wasn’t going to kill anyone, so hopefully that meant the time would be short. But it was rare Ichigo got his way when larger hands were moving the pieces, and something about the angry glitter in Grimmjow’s eyes made him want to just throw the entire deal out the window and disappear into the dunes, the same way he had when Apacci had decided they’d take him with them.

“So?”

The word jolted Ichigo out of his thoughts, leaving him disoriented.

“What? So what?”

“So what’d you want saving from? Why the hell did I bother hauling you here?”

“I told you already. Besides,” Ichigo gestured at himself, “do you really think I’d dress like this on purpose? After you left me for dead they decided I was theirs. Have you ever been scrubbed raw by those three in some kind of disgusting arrancar soup? Try it sometime. Maybe you’ll end up begging someone who hates you for a free ride out, too.”

“I hate you,” Grimmjow repeated flatly. Ichigo rolled his eyes at the pocked stone ceiling.

“Yeah, I know.”

“No—” Letting out a hissing sigh of impatience, Grimmjow shuffled the lantern between his hands. “You’re wrong on the hate thing. But I can’t forgive any bullshit about owning me.”

Ichigo frowned up at the stone, watching the lanterns flicker all over its cold surface. “I don’t know anything about Hueco Mundo’s rules.”

“No shit.”

“Can’t we just own each other?” Rolling his neck, he turned to look at Grimmjow, who sat still and strange as he looked back. “Is that a thing?”

“Not here. There’s only predator and prey.” He frowned. “Fracción sometimes, but that’s different. I’ll never have those again.”

Silence again, but it wasn’t a combative thing; not a weapon to punish each other. Ichigo let his eyes slide closed briefly, the lantern planted between his knees, his hands outstretched to absorb its tiny warmth. He opened them again.

“So who do you have?”

Grimmjow blinked across at him. “Nobody. Nobody’s supposed to have anybody here, Kurosaki. What did you think Hueco Mundo was before Aizen showed up? We’re not a real kingdom. The strongest are free.”

“The strongest are alone,” Ichigo corrected. “You and Nel and Harribel, you hold yourselves apart instead of ganging together.”

“We’ll fight together when it counts.”

“And when it doesn’t? What do you do here?”

Grimmjow looked away. “Who the fuck cares?”

Me, Ichigo wanted to say but didn’t, knowing it’d just lead to some shit about how he was a soft touch and wanted everyone to hold hands and be friends. That wasn’t it at all. Wars just weren’t won alone. Sometimes he’d felt like they were solely on his shoulders, but the truth was nothing worthwhile was ever done completely solo.

“I should confess then, I was kind of thinking I’d bite you again when your guard was down,” Ichigo found himself saying into the silence, whimsical and a bit careless. “But I doubt your guard is ever going down. So in the interests of mutual trust so you don’t stake me in my sleep…I’m not gonna do it. Harribel gave me enough, anyway.”

“You drank Harribel’s blood.” Grimmjow said it not like he disbelieved it, but like he couldn’t understand it. “What’s she doing giving over for a shinigami after all her talk about independent rule?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I killed Yhwach.” Ichigo thought about it. “She did seem surprised I didn’t bite Nel or the others.”

“So just me and Harribel,” Grimmjow said, shifting back onto the reclined padding of the lounge to get a better look at him. The lantern was thudded down onto the jutting stone shelf above the bed. “Expensive tastes, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo looked back at him, over the glow of the lantern and into the gathering shadows of the room. Ordinarily Grimmjow would just be a pale smear of face and hands in his white jacket, but with his new vision Ichigo could see so much more. Like the crease of his narrow brows, downturned in thought more than anger, and the twitch in the corner of his lips that spoke of something he wouldn’t voice out loud. Or the jump of his pulse in his neck, right over the healing wounds Ichigo had given him earlier that day. Such a short time and he’d already recovered that much. Hollows were something else.

“All this talk of claims and prey and stuff,” Ichigo said, almost aimlessly into the silence. “I don’t get Hueco Mundo, but even I could tell you ran away after I…” Hm. He couldn’t figure out a way to finish that sentence without crawling into himself. “After I—”

“Sucked your own blood off my mouth? Fuck, Kurosaki, you know what you did.”

“Like you know you ran?” Ichigo challenged, his cheeks hot. Grimmjow’s eyes darted away, their glint settling on the lantern on the shelf. “What was that? I’m not going to write my actions completely off as dumb vampire instincts, but you could at least tell me it grossed you out.”

“You were supposed to be scared,” Grimmjow muttered. Ichigo could have laughed.

“When have I ever been scared of you, beyond the first time we met?”

Grimmjow blinked, just once. “You were scared then?”

“You put your hand through Rukia’s stomach, and almost beat me into a coma. I was kind of alarmed at first, yeah. D’you think I’m some kind of robot?”

Grimmjow didn’t answer, but Ichigo thought maybe the answer was yes. Realising he’d let himself be knocked off course, Ichigo asked again.

“Why’d you run?”

Again, no answer. Grimmjow stood in a rush, jaw tight and twitching. Ichigo felt himself pull tight just watching him, sitting up straight, but he wasn’t the target. Heading for the door on swift and soundless feet, Grimmjow pulled the heavy vault of it open and walked out. The hard and final slam of it back in the doorjamb was pretty clear: don’t follow, and don’t leave. Not that he had to tell Ichigo twice. There was nothing out there he wanted to visit, and his stomach was full enough that he didn’t really want to move.

Creeping over to the shelf where the other lantern rested, Ichigo placed his own on the window side of the lounge bed, where weirdly ambient room temperature air blew into the space. Hueco Mundo didn’t have the temperate discrepancies between night and day, after all. Crawling up onto the wall side of the worn lounge…thing, with its slightly raised back and double cushioned width, Ichigo put his back to the wall and shoved his face into the cushioned mattress, breathing in deeply. The only thing his new senses gave back to him was an overwhelming sense of Grimmjow. Reiryoku, scent and faint sweat, all soaked into the fabric like a memory. Incongruously, Ichigo’s teeth ached, but there was no trace of blood to be found.

“Crap,” he whispered into the flickering golden darkness.

 _“Crap indeed, Kurosaki-san,”_ said an amiable and familiar voice from the collar around his neck. _“_ _Your hormone readings have never been so high, and I can’t tell if it’s due to the drug or Grimmjow. Do me a favour and seduce him so I can clear up these readings, yes?”_

“No,” Ichigo said flatly. “Do I look like someone who could seduce Grimmjow? He’s angry at me.”

_“And yet, I’m not detecting a personal refusal. Wait for him to get back and suck on his mouth a little. My sensors detected he didn’t entirely hate that.”_

Ichigo’s eyes popped open. “I thought your sensors were just for me.”

_“Gotta go!”_

“Asshole.”

Long after the collar had gone silent, Ichigo lay there thinking about Urahara’s words. His, and Apacci’s, saying that Grimmjow would have tried to kill him if he hated Ichigo’s accidental crossing of the lines. He didn’t want to bank on anyone else’s ideas, especially where someone as unpredictable as Grimmjow was concerned, but Urahara did deal in statistics and facts, not conjecture. Apacci didn’t even know Grimmjow that well, but she knew hollows and their instincts. Why would the two of them meet the same conclusion unless…oh, but it was dumb. Still, the idea wouldn’t leave him alone.

Grimmjow was wild. That was the one word that jumped to mind whenever Ichigo thought of him. Wild, unpredictable, strong, savage, clever, and—he could see, somehow, right into the deepest centre of Ichigo’s mind, right into the dark and selfish corners he tried to pretend didn’t exist. He’d always somehow managed to see the battle-hungry part of Ichigo within the proper and good moral directives of things like saving Inoue, or getting friends to safety. He’d seen it and zeroed in on it the same way he’d treated his own delight in finding a decent battle: something to feed and be delighted in. He was a hollow that loved to fight, and he’d decided Ichigo was good enough to fight forever, just like he’d promised him that afternoon in the sand, before Nnoitra turned up to ruin it all.

Still, he wasn’t just an enemy, was he? They’d allied themselves, however briefly, to get the sternritter out of their worlds. Hueco Mundo had seemed like a hellscape the first time Ichigo had visited, but the second, it had just seemed like a lonely night under siege. Nel had been terrified. Mila Rose, Apacci and Sung-Sun had been covered in blood and crumpled against the broken stone, all because some quincies with a grudge against soul society had decided they needed to subjugate what they felt were savages. Hadn’t they said Grimmjow had killed Quilge with one hit? Not for himself, then. For them? For his land? Or just to kill the invaders before joining up with Urahara?

Shifting to burrow himself into the worn fabric, arms crossed tightly over his chest, Ichigo tried not to think about it too much. Grimmjow wasn’t really in the business of answering questions. Especially not questions asked by fanged shinigami drugged into wanting to bite him every time he walked into the room. He’d walked right out on the last question, after all. Seduce Grimmjow, Ichigo thought with a snort. As if. He’d been sitting there for hours in nothing but a loincloth and oiled skin, and nothing had happened. Maybe the teeth were the problem. No, there was no chance of that. Ichigo had donned an entire hollow mask in front of Grimmjow and he’d only been curious. Teeth were no issue. It was Ichigo himself.

Giving up on the entire idea, knowing Urahara would say anything for new readings for his stupid experiment, Ichigo closed his eyes and pushed his face into the cushioning give of the mattress, trying not to breathe Grimmjow’s faded scent and inhaling it anyway. Sleep might be just what he needed, anyway. Surely a vampire could benefit from that much.

Curling his fingertips into the padding under his hand, Ichigo tried to watch the golden light dance behind his eyelids. He just needed a little sleep.

Just a little bit of rest.

* * *

 

Ichigo opened his eyes sometime later and looked right into a fierce glare inches from his face.

Adrenaline surged hard at the fright. Opening his mouth, Ichigo bared his teeth and hissed a long, threatened rasp.

 _"Fuck._ " Grimmjow punched him in the face so hard Ichigo fell down the space between the bed and the wall.

“Ow!” One of his fangs had cut straight through his lip. Flipping his loincloth back down, Ichigo scowled up at the face looking at him over the edge of the mattress. He was arms and legs everywhere, having landed on his back like a dying bug. “You fuck, what were you doing watching me so close?”

“Hell were you doing sleeping on my bed, is the fuckin’ question.” Grimmjow reached down and grabbed Ichigo’s forearm, yanking him back up. “Didn’t know you could hiss like a snake, Kurosaki.”

“Me either,” Ichigo admitted as he clambered back up onto the cushioned surface. Knuckling a long drip of blood off his chin, he looked at his fist and licked it off. “Maybe don’t scare the shit out of me next time.”

“Me? You’re the one with lizard eyes and damn teeth a mile long. I lost one of my fuckin’ lives just then.” For all his bluster, Grimmjow was mostly staring at Ichigo’s mouth as he cleaned away the blood. The bite had already healed over, but he could still smell blood somewhere. Grimmjow lifted a slow, obvious hand toward his face. “Missed a spot.”

Twitching his mouth to the side, Ichigo let Grimmjow’s fingertip collect a smear of blood on his chin. He followed it with his eyes as Grimmjow drew back, staring at the bright colour of it in the lamplight. The look he darted Ichigo seemed a little curious.

Grimmjow sucked the blood off his finger without so much as a warning. Hands clenching in the cushions, Ichigo felt himself go a little crazy as he watched Grimmjow work his tongue thoughtfully inside his mouth, exhaling through his nose to get the full taste of his blood. Ichigo might have whimpered like something in pain.

“Just tastes like blood to me,” he said finally, very obviously disappointed. “Dunno what—”

Ichigo really didn’t mean to pin Grimmjow on his back against the mattress, wrists held down and head tossed back in surprise, exposing the column of his strong throat. The sight of smooth, shockingly soft skin there made his mouth water. Sure, he’d had his teeth in there before, but he’d never looked. He’d expected Grimmjow to be hard all over. Naturally that was just in his own head. His lips had been plenty soft.

“You’d better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Grimmjow warned, scowling up at him. Switching his attention to angry blue eyes, Ichigo watched his gaze flicker slightly. Grimmjow wasn’t trying to get away, he realised. But he didn’t want a bite. “Your eyes are glowing again.” Under his palms, Ichigo felt tendons shift in the wrists he was holding down above Grimmjow’s head. Unconsciously he slid his hands down until his fingers could follow the path of his veins, stroking over the skin. His entire jaw ached with the need to bite down.

“I won’t bite,” Ichigo said, to himself and to Grimmjow. Still, he lowered his face to the space where neck curved into shoulder and inhaled deeply. “But fuck you for smelling this good.” That close, he felt the tremor that ripped through Grimmjow’s spine. Sighing in misery, Ichigo started to pull his face away. Grimmjow’s patience was probably about to run right out. “Now I’m hungry again.”

Beneath him—very literally beneath him, because Ichigo realised in that instant he was body-to-body sprawled on top of him—Grimmjow was carefully assessing his expression through hooded eyes. Whatever he saw made him swallow, his adam’s apple sliding beneath his skin. Something resolved in his face. With his wrists still held and Ichigo’s weight pressing him down, Grimmjow slowly turned his face away to expose the punctures on his neck. And all the while, his eyes didn’t leave Ichigo’s.

It was the most seductive thing Ichigo had ever seen.

“Please,” Ichigo said unthinkingly, his breathing coming faster. He shifted against Grimmjow. “Just a little.”

Shaking one hand free, Grimmjow reached around the back of Ichigo’s neck. His fingers shied away from the brush of hair on his nape, then sifted through it. He tugged him down until Ichigo’s mouth was level with the wounds he’d made.

“Use the same bite.” Grimmjow’s voice was a little thick. “And don’t fuckin’ glut yourself.” He seemed to want to say more but Ichigo was almost shaking against him, running his mouth up and down his throat in gratitude. Not a kiss—but well, a little like a kiss actually. The hand on his neck tightened. Ichigo reined himself in and licked a swath across the healing marks, a little sorry that he was opening them up again. But not sorry enough to stop.

Against him, Grimmjow tensed on a quick inhale as he struck. Blindly Ichigo ran his hand down his side, barely able to keep it together as he unlatched his teeth. Hot blood flowed into his mouth, pulled from the suction of his lips around the wounds, tasting like crackling reiryoku and wet copper. It should have tasted like anyone else, everyone else, but none of them could have made Ichigo’s eyes slide shut in bliss like that. Moaning in sheer relief, he lapped at the skin beneath his mouth like his life depended on it.

Beneath him, Grimmjow was swearing softly under his breath, but his body had relaxed slightly. All that anger and muscle and strength, and he wasn’t using a bit of it to stop him. Somehow the thrill of that made it even better. Swallowing against his throat again and again, Ichigo let himself be caught up in the incredible haze of it. Maybe the whole vampire thing wasn’t that bad, he thought between languid gulps. He’d never have had a chance to be this close to Grimmjow otherwise. Still, nothing lasted forever, and he had promised not to take too much. Regretfully tugging his mouth away, nuzzling against the wounds as they bled sluggishly, Ichigo blew gently on them in hopes he could take some of the sting out.

It wasn’t until Grimmjow’s fingers twitched in reflex at the sensation that Ichigo realised his hands had relocated somewhere else during his euphoric meal. Actually, Ichigo was able to realise a few things at once.

The first was that Grimmjow’s hands were cupping his bare ass. The second was that Ichigo had been—and was still—mindlessly grinding on him in slow movements, and probably had been for the entire process.

Third…well, third was that judging by the rigid length pressed against him, Grimmjow had no complaints about it.

_Why’d you run?_

Lifting his head slowly, knowing his mouth was probably still slick with blood, Ichigo bit down on his lower lip and found Grimmjow’s gaze with his own. The sharp blue eyes that glared up at him were challenging, and maybe still a little stunned. He probably hadn’t woken up that day thinking he’d end up with his mostly naked frenemy on top of him drinking his blood, let alone the rest of it.

“Is it the biting?” Ichigo asked, a little startled by how husky his voice sounded. Licking his lips, he swallowed and tried to clear his throat. “Because that’s weird.”

“No, the bite hurt,” Grimmjow replied, his brows knitting together in incredulity. “Kurosaki, you’re greased up and naked on top of me, sucking on my neck and trying to ride me. Why the fuck would the least sexy part of this turn me on?”

“Because you asked me to?”

“I fuckin’ did not, you were begging for it!”

Ichigo pride rose. “Like hell, all I said was please, because I’ve got manners—” A hand squeezed his ass punishingly hard, making him yelp. One-handed, he reached back and tried to slap it away. “And I’m not naked, I’m wearing this perfectly functional handkerchief, thanks. Quit being a dick.”

Grimmjow scoffed, but his hand relaxed. “Manners? You haven’t said thanks yet. Didn’t have to let you do that, you know, with it being a sign of complete and utter fucking weakness on my part.”

“You know I won’t tell,” Ichigo said seriously. “Besides, a coward would have told me to fuck off. You actually let me.” Running his fingertips around the edge of the reddened skin on Grimmjow’s neck, completely full and absolutely humming with contentment, Ichigo figured it wasn’t breaking any more unspoken rules to put his cheek down against Grimmjow’s shoulder and shut his eyes. “But you’re right. Thanks, Grimmjow.”

Above him, Grimmjow made a horrible sound of displeasure and shifted his thighs apart slightly, trying to relieve pressure. Ichigo was buried right between them. Still, he didn’t make any outright complaints, and after a few moments Ichigo realised he wasn’t going to, either. Grimmjow was just…going to let him sleep right on top of his clearly straining erection like it was no big deal. Touched by the thoughtfulness of it, Ichigo blinked into the golden lamplight and sucked gently on one of his fangs. One good turn totally deserved another, right?

Reaching up to catch the silver tag of Grimmjow’s zipper between his fingertips, Ichigo slowly dragged the length of it down between them. Black cloth fell aside on Grimmjow’s chest as the metal teeth parted, revealing a long trail of warm, sculpted skin. The scar that pitted the centre of his chest from stomach to shoulder was like a road map. Ichigo trailed his fingers over it until the trail ran clean, dipping around the hollow hole in his midsection. Then, further down.

Above him, Grimmjow’s breath seemed to have stopped in his throat. Like it was nothing, Ichigo shifted his own hips aside to give his hand more room. Inside his chest, however, his heart was hammering like it was wont to explode and kill them both. Did he seem suave? Man, he hoped so. Warming his hand against the curve of Grimmjow’s hip for a moment, Ichigo slid his fingers across the vee of muscle curving down and took the entire hot length of him in hand. Straddling one muscled thigh, forehead shoved against Grimmjow’s unmasked cheek, Ichigo ghosted his grip lightly down and back up, seeking a reaction. He didn’t get one other than the stuttering exhale Grimmjow released, and the twitch beneath his fingers.

“Yeah?” Ichigo said against his neck.

“…yeah,” Grimmjow replied, sounding like the words were dragged from him. Ichigo squeezed a little. " _Yes._ "

It didn’t take much to start a decent rhythm, and even less to coax Grimmjow to turn his head so Ichigo could see his face. It was all just incredibly easy, though part of Ichigo was wincing at the friction of his hand sliding over damp and sensitive flesh. Hierro or not, it just didn’t seem fun. Grimmjow didn’t mind though, breathing against Ichigo’s cheek in small hitches and bitten back words, just so completely out of it that Ichigo wondered exactly when the last time anyone had touched him had been. Not that he was particularly experienced himself; a few dumb fumbles here and there weren’t enough to make anyone an expert. He didn’t have enough ego to attribute the reaction to himself or his skills. Still, he wasn’t enjoying the silence and rote motions of it, and soon Ichigo found himself turning to look at the small, utilitarian pitcher sitting on the bedside chest near Grimmjow’s unbuckled sword. It smelled just like the same stuff the tres bestias had put on him. Sword oil. Shoving his hand in it seemed logical.

“What—” Grimmjow choked out the first time Ichigo wrapped his newly-slick hand back around his cock, coating him from shaft to head and back down in one long, easy glide. He held out through three slow and easy pumps before a tremor tugged its way through his entire body. “Oh, fuck. Okay.” A lean hand slid down Ichigo’s back to grip his ass again, a little higher than before.

Well, that felt like permission.

The next ten minutes were good, dirty fun. It didn’t matter that Ichigo was the one giving it: Grimmjow was bucking up into his hand on every downstroke, the sweat beading on his brow smearing onto Ichigo’s own cheek. Hands rubbed his back up and down, occasionally trying to force him to go faster, tighter. He stopped moving every time, until Grimmjow snarled a curse and pulled away, giving himself straight over into the pace he was setting. When Ichigo finally decided he’d edged him enough and gave it to him for real, Grimmjow let out a sound that probably echoed thirty metres down the hallway outside.

Tit for tat, Ichigo thought as Grimmjow came over his hand in short, desperate jerks of his hips. He’d really done him a favour with the blood, after all. Did this make them even? The hunger didn’t exactly match up with lust, but maybe they were close enough.

He was still thinking that when Grimmjow grabbed the back of his head and tugged him in for a lazy, wet, open-mouthed kiss.

A kiss.

_A kiss._

Ichigo couldn’t remember the last time—

Why would Grimmjow—

A possessive mouth covered his, soft and hotter than he’d expected. Ichigo hadn’t even realised how much cooler his skin was until then. A tongue pressed against the closed gate of his teeth until he relaxed his jaw. But realisation came a moment later, and he tried to break away.

“Fangs,” Ichigo managed to say in the space between their mouths. “Sharp fangs. Can’t promise I won’t bite.”

“So bite,” Grimmjow said, his tilted eyes vivid blue in the burnished light of the lantern. “I don’t give a fuck. Just want your taste.”

“That’s hot,” Ichigo said on a disbelieving laugh as Grimmjow pulled him in again, his tongue plunging fearlessly into Ichigo’s sharp-toothed mouth. Feeling something give inside his wired up control, Ichigo opened his mouth and let him right in, exploring the soft tongue stroking his own. What felt like owing a favour was quickly unravelling into something else as a warm coal of need began to flare to life. It had nothing to do with vampires or blood, which alarmed him in some distant place. But while Grimmjow’s arms were tugging him closer, hot breath and biting teeth moving down across his jaw and neck, he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Why’d you run?” Ichigo panted as he was pushed onto his back. He lifted his hips as Grimmjow sank down to unlatch the chain and toss his entire loincloth to the other side of the room with a clatter. “Why’d you leave me there if you wanted me?”

“Didn’t think you wanted me,” Grimmjow said into the soft skin where Ichigo’s thigh met his groin. He hitched his leg straight over his shoulder. “And you fuckin’ surprised me.”

“So you didn’t—” Ichigo choked a little as Grimmjow abruptly swallowed him down, working his length before he became fully hard. Biting his wrist to silence himself seemed the only intelligent option. Squeezing his watering eyes shut, he waited four long, impossibly hot strokes before he could shove Grimmjow back. “You didn’t—ha, oh  _fuck_ —you didn’t abandon your claim on purpose, like they said?”

“Kurosaki, I’m sucking your dick right now. The hell do you think?” Without waiting for his reply Grimmjow took him firmly in hand and sank his mouth down around him again, too hot and too damn good. Shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes, Ichigo tried not to buck and cry out. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was—Grimmjow was—

Fingers pinched the soft skin of his inner thigh, sharp and painful.

“You’d better not hold back on me, you shinigami asshole. Quit with the silent routine.” Drawing down and then back up, the soft tip of a tongue flicked the head of his cock, just shy of the slit. “Not like there’s anyone around to hear you. No-one except me. You moaned just fine when you had your teeth in my neck.”

“You didn’t make much noise, til the end,” Ichigo panted out, fingers reaching down to tangle in pale blue hair hovering over his hips. Grimmjow’s teeth looked too damn sharp. “Was I that bad?”

“Oh, you were good. Good enough I’ll let you bite me again, if you shut up and let me make you come.”

Wet heat engulfed his cock again, strong and determined to pull a reaction from him. Forearm cast over his own eyes, Ichigo hitched one last-ditch breath and grit his teeth, knowing it was completely in vain as his hips started twitching instinctively up, up into the suckling goddamn mouth eagerly pulling his reactions like a diver searching for forbidden treasure. With a bitten-down cry, Ichigo felt justified in holding Grimmjow’s head immobile the moment he came, coming straight into his swallowing mouth, jerking up into hands that held him aloft just long enough for him to finish. Gasping, Ichigo stared up into the blurry ceiling while Grimmjow continued to work him with his mouth, a barely-there touch of lips that made him want to scream. Shit. Shit. He was good. Ichigo couldn’t hold back the broken, half-made sounds that left him after that.

The eventuating silence stretched into something long and impossible, suspending Ichigo in a moment of pure euphoria for far longer than he probably deserved. When Grimmjow eventually slid back up his body to push his arm away, revealing his eyes, Ichigo blinked up at him like he was seeing for the first time.

“Oh, hey.”

“Hey.” Grimmjow’s tongue lashed across his teeth, eyes warm and alive on his. “We met before?”

“Nah,” Ichigo said, not bothering to keep his faint, curling smile down. “Think I might be your type, though.”

“Pretty bold claim, if you ask me.”

Ichigo ran his fingertips over the newly-healing punctures dotting Grimmjow’s neck. Same place as before, sure, but there was new meaning in the wounds. Grimmjow didn’t flinch a little at the touch, and that said a lot.

“Maybe you’re my type, too.”

“No shit,” Grimmjow said immediately, but his eyes glinted with pure satisfaction.

There was a lot to look into, and forward to, with another week left of vampire study and the entire Hueco Mundo thing that was centred around him. The vampire aspect was likely to complicate a lot. Ichigo wasn’t sure this weird connection with Grimmjow would survive past it. Reaching out as Grimmjow slid across his body like a serpent, shoving his jumpsuit completely off his legs and down to the floor, he let himself be arranged until they lay side by side, thighs threaded together. Ichigo smoothed his hands down unmarked shoulders and a firm chest, thumbs unapologetically flicking his nipples like joysticks.

“Ow.” Grimmjow sounded less than bothered. “Did you do this to the tres bestias?”

“No,” Ichigo said, disturbed. “They were mostly concerned with washing me down.”

“Explains the taste,” Grimmjow replied, like it was nothing at all. “Still don’t know why you wanted me instead of them, though.”

Ichigo thought about it. There were all kinds of answers for that, ones that would make Nel out to sound like his knight and Mila Rose and the others to be his stalwart heroes, pampering him to torment the evil arrancar Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. None of it fit, though. Grimmjow wasn’t evil, and Ichigo was nobody’s precious treasure for pampering and caring for.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re delicious,” Ichigo told him. He rolled his eyes at the grudging little preen Grimmjow tried to hide. “You psycho fuck. I like you.”

“You like my mouth,” Grimmjow shot back with force, his teeth gleaming on the barest edge of a grin. “Filthy fuckin’ shini—”

Ichigo plugged all those words with his own mouth, not even shuddering at the lingering taste of himself on the back of Grimmjow’s tongue. Fuck it, Ichigo thought as he turned them over, his own naked skin still slick and sweating against Grimmjow’s. They could fight about it later.

And later.

And much later.

* * *

 

“So it turns out he’s had a big angry crush on me this entire time,” Ichigo was saying, rubbing firm, shining circles across Mila Rose’s back. She had a small knot of muscle just under her left shoulder. Ichigo attacked it like it had personally wronged him. “He still wants to fight me to the death and everything, but…” He trailed off as he felt the muscle give. Mila Rose groaned into her folded arms.

“Before that he wants to fuck you til your eyes cross?” Apacci offered, looking revolted. Sitting in front of her, Sung-Sun was carefully filing her nails down into smooth, short rounds. “I think the mental image of that alone just put me off my lunch. You could do a lot better, harem boy. I’m pretty sure Grimmjow has fleas.”

“He doesn’t,” Ichigo replied, jamming his elbow down into a new mess of abused muscle around her hips. What had Mila Rose been doing her whole life? He grinned over at Apacci. “Trust me, I checked everywhere.”

A chorus of boos followed that. Apacci made a retching sound that bordered on genuine. Tipping more oil down the length of Mila Rose’s back, Ichigo started working his way down to her glutes. She’d lost the skirt beforehand, but if he kept going he was going to get oil all over her tiny little g-string. Pausing, he wondered if he should just take it off for her. He was still thinking about it when booted footsteps approached them from around the back of the throne.

“Are you having an orgy or something? I can’t believe nobody invited me!” Nel cried, darting a wounded look up at the throne. Thankfully the chair was vacant, with Harribel off walking the perimeter herself, but Ichigo still knew the whole thing looked bad with the four of them sprawled on the marble in varying states of undress. Pouting and trying not to look like she was pouting, Nel unbuckled her sword and let it hit the stone as she knelt on Mila Rose’s other side. “You’re doing me next, right, Ichigo?”

“Well, he’s already done Grimmjow,” Sung-Sun said, unable to cover her smile with her sleeve this time. “What’s one more espada?” Under his hands, Mila Rose hooted.

“You guys can shut the hell up,” Ichigo said crossly, whipping her underwear off in one quick yank. “Here I am, rubbing you all down out of the goodness of my temporary vampire heart, and you’re making fun of me. Well, the joke’s on you: Grimmjow is an excellent lay.”

“Aw, Kurosaki, I’m touched.” The tone of Grimmjow’s voice suggested he was not touched at all. Ichigo’s dick almost retreated into his body. “The fuck are you doing with the clam sisters over here? Orgy? I’ll give you a tip: there’s too many sockets here and not enough plugs.”

“What are you, an electrician?” Mila Rose said, disgruntled. “Nobody invited you, Romeo. Nel, please kill him. Ichigo will eventually find love again.”

Nel actually reached for her sword. Ichigo had to dive on her arm to stop her. Cheeks burning with angry embarrassment, he gave her a look that he hoped was quelling enough to keep her from trying to do anything like murder Grimmjow so they could have their fictional orgy in peace. Hazel eyes scanned his face seriously for a moment, until whatever she saw there made her smile.

“I think I just figured out why you liked Grimmjow’s blood so much,” she exclaimed, gripping his shoulders. “You were hot for him from the start! It’s chemistry!”

Ichigo’s collar crackled to life. _“_ _We have a winner! Well done, Nelliel-san._ _”_ Everyone’s eyes flew to the collar, not least of all Grimmjow’s. _“Existing hormones and the anti-hollow drug combined to give Kurosaki-san here a very specific craving for…shall we say, targeted pheromones? What an interesting side-effect! It’s very fortuitous that Grimmjow was so receptive.This has given me a wealth of data.”_

Dropping down to one knee, Grimmjow hooked a finger under Ichigo’s collar and glared into the sensor at the front.

“Urahara you piece of shit, you’d better not have a camera in there.”

 _“Never! My, my, that would be a terrible invasion of privacy.”_ Static cracked softly, signifying the connection was still open. _“Besides, there’d be little to see with Kurosaki flat on his back for hours. Hueco Mundo’s stone ceilings hold no interest to me.”_

The arrancar women lost their damn minds. Nel covered her face and all but rolled away. Around him, the enormous room echoed with howling laughter. Apacci had actual tears rolling down her face. In front of Ichigo, Grimmjow’s finger slowly slid out from under the collar. His expression was annoyed. Ichigo wanted to crawl away somewhere to die. Fucking Urahara.

“Guess Grimmjow really did end up on top,” Nel said, just as they all calmed down. Mila Rose shrieked, and then they were off again. Ichigo remembered very clearly why he’d almost sold his soul to go with Grimmjow.

“I hope every one of you gets crabs,” Ichigo said flatly, wiping his hands down. He shoved himself to his feet. “I don’t have to take this.”

“You already took it—” Mila Rose started, until Grimmjow gave her a sharp kick in the ribs.

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice was cold, and it cut through their hilarity like a knife. Amusement faded into wariness. “You open your mouth on that subject again and I’ll rip your fuckin’ tongues out.”

Apacci frowned. “Harribel-sama—”

“Would be happy with some peace and quiet,” a voice said behind them all. Harribel trudged into the throne room and waved her hand at the tangle of them. “Don’t make sport of the shinigami. Clean this up.”

As they scrambled to do her bidding, Ichigo watched Grimmjow stalk away. It didn’t take much deliberation for him to jog after him, leaving the four of them to clean up all the oil and get dressed again.

“They were just having some fun, you know,” Ichigo called down the hall. His cheeks had mostly cooled by then. “Besides, at least now we know there really wasn’t a camera in the collar.” As he caught up with Grimmjow’s long-legged stride, Ichigo casually reached out and patted his ass. Grimmjow went rigid. “Don’t be so mad.”

Ichigo let himself be pinned against the wall as Grimmjow leaned in. The stone was a cold shock against his naked back. Running his tongue along his fangs, his eyes on the marked-up side of Grimmjow’s neck, Ichigo wondered how soon was too soon to have another go. Almost like he was reading his thoughts, Grimmjow touched the healing bite with his fingertips.

“Excellent lay, huh?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I was a fuckin’ ragdoll by the end.”

“Blood loss will do that.” Ichigo bit his lip on a smile. “Sorry.”

“I’m not.” Fingertips pressed against his exposed fangs, sliding down their length. “So, you wanted me before these grew? That really what I heard?”

Ichigo bit down on one fingertip, catching it between his blunt human teeth. He didn’t really know whether it was true or not, other than something about Grimmjow had always electrified him, turned his head in every situation. Maybe it did just come down to chemistry. He released Grimmjow’s finger, only for him to put it right back in. Above the green markings, Grimmjow’s eyes were speaking entire volumes. Something awkward flickered across his face.

Spitting his finger out, Ichigo stretched the extra couple inches and kissed his frowning mouth. If he’d had any doubts about how much Grimmjow liked being kissed, they evaporated the moment hands spanned the width of his back, tugging him up against his body. The soft inhale Grimmjow gave as Ichigo stroked his way into his mouth was pure gratification.

“Say you’ve got a crush on me,” Ichigo said between desperate, hungry kisses. “Say you’ve had it for ages.” He felt the words go through Grimmjow, tightening his shoulders, but he didn’t take them back. Sliding his lips over Ichigo’s cheek and jaw, breathing raggedly against his skin, Grimmjow swept up and bit down on the edge of his earlobe. His words were hot against the shell of his ear.

“Wanted to get my mouth on you for years.” Said mouth sealed Ichigo’s for a long, long while. When he broke away they were both panting. “Just didn’t expect you to get yours on me first.”

“I was thirsty.”

“You and me both,” Grimmjow muttered, making him laugh. The cuff that earned Ichigo was barely a blow at all. “So you’re like this for a week, then they cure you and life goes on? That it?”

“I guess.” Ichigo really hadn’t thought that far ahead. “But knowing Urahara, he wants to perfect this stupid drug and piss Kurotsuchi off. I’m his favourite guinea pig, I think. You’ll probably have to put up with me coming back to bite you a lot.”

“So there’s still time for me to fuck you senseless up on the throne,” Grimmjow said decisively. Ichigo blinked.

“It’s not my ass that’s sore. Let’s do it today.” He let himself be hiked up onto Grimmjow’s hips, comfortable with their sizes being pretty similar. Ichigo looked down at the press of their bodies, reaching between them to touch a very specific and sensitive area. “Do you think letting me drink from that big artery would kill you?”

“You’re killin’ me just fine as it is,” Grimmjow replied, his voice slightly hoarse. “Remind me to send Urahara some flowers.”

_“I prefer sake.”_

Ichigo just tipped his head back and clenched his thighs in time for Grimmjow to rip the collar to pieces.

“You know, I probably needed that to get home,” Ichigo said contemplatively, watching the wiring frizzle and spark as it hit the floor. “Guess you’ll have to give me a ride.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Grimmjow agreed, hefting his weight and starting down the hall. Ichigo didn’t bother to protest.

It had come from a completely bizarre series of events, what with the experimental drug and almost catching fire in the sunlight, but given his current circumstances Ichigo silently wondered if maybe he didn’t owe Kurotsuchi some kind of fruit basket for turning him into a blood-drinking creature of the night. It had all really come up roses for him.

Tipping his face down to look at Grimmjow, Ichigo nodded to himself. It was going to be an interesting week. Maybe even more than that. As they rounded the corner into another hallway, Ichigo thought of something that lit his spine with excitement.

“I’m a seductive vampire,” he said triumphantly, pumping his fist. “That fucking makes me Dracula. Eat  _shit,_  Karin.”

The long look of judgement that Grimmjow gave him was just the icing on the cake, really.

“Take me to my chamber, Mina.”

“I’m gonna fucking drop you.”

Living up to his best seductive self, Ichigo ducked in and kissed Grimmjow until his frown smoothed out into something else.

Yeah, they were in for a fun week.

Ichigo couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so concludes the bloody tale of grimmjow and his harem boy :)

**Author's Note:**

> art by the ever-amazing [@peppertea_](https://twitter.com/peppertea_) who continues to spoil my ass
> 
> as usual, main fanart tag is on my tumblr: [murderlight](https://murderlight.tumblr.com/tagged/murderfanart)


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